HopeWords Literary Journal

The HopeWords Literary Journal exists for writers, artists, and readers who long for hope and heaven and who look for timeless stories from diverse voices that all point back to the good, true, and beautiful. The HopeWords Literary Journal is not clickbait, it's not artificial, it's not breaking news. It's a community of writers, painters, preachers, thinkers, musicians, photographers, cartoonists, and storytellers who foster colorful conversations that are rooted in humble hospitality.

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Trash

As the piano whispered hymns behind his closing prayer and the rustling of the plastic that surrounds old ladies’ mints, the ones that’d ready their tongues for post-church gossip, filled the room, Pastor Michael Altizer couldn’t help but think that this had been the worst week to ever be so rudely interrupted by a Sunday…

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Categories

Reflection on Psalm 62
Essays Graci Lowe Essays Graci Lowe

Reflection on Psalm 62

My friend Jen and I stayed in Bramwell for HopeWords 2024. On Friday, before we would settle into our seats in the Granada Theater and Travis Lowe would stir in us a desire to love a place like he loved Bluefield, we decided to stop at Pinnacle Rock on our way to the evening session…

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The Gift of Fear
Essays Graci Lowe Essays Graci Lowe

The Gift of Fear

I grew up a free-range child. Our neighborhood gang daily dared death. We swam Bear Creek lifevestless, rode stingray bikes and Tecumseh minibikes helmetless, engaged in B. B. Gun wars safety-glassless, roamed miles from home mapless. All this took place virtually parentless. Therefore, I considered myself fearless…

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Advocate or Accuser
Essays, Other Graci Lowe Essays, Other Graci Lowe

Advocate or Accuser

I once received an email from a friend who saw something in my life and felt called to point it out to me. It was about how my wife, Gina, and I parent our kids. I am not always good at receiving this kind of feedback. It’s embarrassing…

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Crashing into Reality: Machines and Mementos
Essays Graci Lowe Essays Graci Lowe

Crashing into Reality: Machines and Mementos

“Can I take a few pieces?” 

I looked down at the shards of prismatic textured plastic in her hands, sparkling in the late-April sun. The deer had done a number on the front of our little blue hatchback, and we were about to leave it behind for the tow truck to take to a scrapyard…

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